The Board is Set
by Horatia
Summary: A Norrington, Mercer and Groves centric pre At World's End series. Disclaimer: Not mine.
1. High Tea

Admiral James Norrington stood at the window of the captain's quarters on the _Endeavor. _Growing ever more annoyed, he looked again at the clock on Lord Beckett's desk. The clock was about the only object easily found on the fine mahogany desk. All other materials were nearly completely obscured by pieces of paper and artifacts he had picked up on recent voyages. Letters of business (no doubt dirty business, Norrington assumed) had been (conveniently) banished to a locked draw. _People have an uncanny ability to keep me in the dark, _the admiral thought. Nevertheless, there sat the clock, its hands indicating the time to be fifteen minutes past three. If Beckett was one thing, he was punctual. However, the same could not be said for his secretary.

At that moment, he heard the not so graceful scuffle of boots, signaling the arrival of said perpetually late aid. Norrington turned to face the man, who was dressed all in black, as was usual.

"Mr. Mercer," he said, giving a stiff bow.

"Admiral Norrington," Mercer replied with an even stiffer bow of his own.

The two turned their attention to the small table between them, set for two. Avoiding eye contact, they sat down, each careful not to show how awkward they felt the situation was. The poor midshipman assigned to the task of serving the gentlemen, poured the tea, his hands shaking slightly. He had no doubt been told that a promotion might be in store if he kept their cups full and his mouth shut about what was about to be said.

"Lord Beckett sends his respects to you, Admiral, and asks if you are well," said Mercer, his accent slipping out as he picked up his teacup.

"Quite well," he responded, his normally flawless veil of civility beginning to disappear. He found that these days, niceties and long, clever strings of redundant words no longer did him any good whatsoever.

Mercer, a little dismayed at having his manners so quickly dismissed, decided it best to get straight to business. "Lord Beckett asked me to come here to, as you are no doubt aware, discuss a certain pirate. Jack Sparrow." He looked, up quirking an eyebrow.

The corner of Norrington's mouth twitched slightly, but he showed no other symptom of discomfort.

"Why would his lordship think I would know anything more about Sparrow than I have already told him?"

"Because the two of you are of the opinion that he is still alive, and his lordship also knows that you have offered him amnesty in the past. I am sure that you have not done so recently, however Lord Beckett does not . . . _appreciate_ being double-crossed," said Mercer." Sugar?"

Norrington's jawed clenched, his mind choosing his words carefully, as he accepted the small bowl.

"Well, you can you can assure his lordship," he bit out," that he should have no such concern. My loyalties are where they have always been. Biscuit?"

It was Mercer's turn to flush, but as always, he had more information at his side than could be assumed. He took the plate of biscuits and throwing one unceremoniously beside his teacup, he said," There's also the matter of another pirate. One that Lord Beckett is particularly troubled by. Elizabeth Swann."

"Miss Swann is **not **a pirate," Norrington shot back quickly.

Mercer smiled faintly. _Struck a nerve, did I?_

"And beside the fact, I am convinced that Miss Swann is no longer . . . a threat to anyone." He just couldn't bring himself to say he believed her dead. It felt like giving up on her, like admitting she was not invincible, and that was something he simply could not do.

"Perhaps you've given amnesty to her as well?" Mercer ventured.

"Of course not."

"She broke the law, Admiral."

_A ridiculous and unjust law_. "Perhaps she did, but she broke it with no intention of doing anything other than what was right."

"Who's to say what's right anymore, Admiral? The world's changing, my friend, and the best a man can do is to do what's best for himself. You'd do well to remember that."

"I do not think myself capable of being that sort of man."

Mercer's eyebrows quirked again. "_Capable_? Everyone is capable, even your dear Miss Swann. She was once upon a time that sort."

Admiral Norrington rose in his chair, his gaze cooling. "If you are referring to the incident in which she broke off our engagement, then yes, I would say that she was quite selfish. I can hardly blame her, however. She did not love me. She never had."

Mercer drank down the last of his tea. "Allow me to be frank, sir. She lied to you, betrayed your trust, and publicly humiliated you. For that, you must harbor a little resentment toward her."

"I do not," Norrington stated firmly. "It is true. She did publicly humiliate me, but she meant no harm. It could have been worse."

Mercer shrugged. "I suppose so. . . She could have been French."

Norrington's cool gaze wavered, wondering if the man sitting across from him had actually made an attempt at humor. He smiled a bit, just enough to acknowledge that he had thought it amusing. "Yes, I suppose."

Mercer tilted his head slightly, as if to praise Norrington's willingness to be civil. Norrington noted this with some amazement at the fact that there might actually be a shred of humanity in this man.

"Well, I'm afraid we've veered off the subject." Mercer rose, intentionally hitting his knee against the table to wake the midshipman, who had begun to nap long since the tea had been poured.

Norrington rose also, realizing (with pleasure) he was quite a bit taller than the black-clad secretary before him. With another stiff bow, he said," Farewell, then, Mr. Mercer."

Mercer returned the bow, slightly less stiffly than before and said," Farewell, Admiral."

Mercer turned quickly, making the midshipman jump in surprise. Mercer shook his head slightly. _It's hard to find good help these days_. Without another word, he slipped out the door, leaving the admiral to a full, cold cup of tea.

Norrington looked again to Beckett's desk. It was four o'clock.


	2. New Assignments

The morning had been a particularly difficult one for Mr. Mercer. The same midshipman that had napped behind him in Beckett's office had now been deemed worthy to serve as his assistant. The boy, Tatting was his name, had woken him up fifteen minutes earlier than told, and, after a look from Mercer, quickly shouted out that Lord Beckett had just arrived on an unexpected visit. Without a word, Mercer got up and dressed.

Straightening his jacket, he stepped out of his quarters nearly running into a blue- coated figure, brocade glistening in the early morning sun. Looking up he saw the face of none other than Admiral Norrington, his displeased expression framed by the double curl wig Mercer found so ridiculous and had early on suggested for the uniform of the highest officers of the East India Trading Company.

"Requested your presence as well, eh?" Mercer asked, walking toward his employer's quarters.

"So it would seem," Norrington replied, following the secretary with hands tightly clasped behind his back.

The ship's crew tore their attention away from their work to watch the two. Sharing looks of discomfort, they dreaded what was going to transpire inside Beckett's quarters. After all, Tatting had said that Mercer and Norrington had held pistols pointed at each other during the entire meeting and would have most definitely killed had not their guns both jammed at the same time. With a glance from the admiral, they quickly turned back to the work at hand.

Mercer knocked three times on the door to the office. It was immediately opened by another blue clad officer, younger than the two men standing outside. Taking no notice of him, Mercer stepped through the door. Norrington, however, had frozen on the spot. The admiral and lieutenant looked as if they might say something to each other, but the younger simply swallowed and offered a nod. Norrington, his face falling a bit, nodded back.

"Groves?" came Beckett's voice from behind the mahogany desk.

Groves opened the door a little wider and waved his hand toward Beckett and his clerk, inviting him in. Norrington stepped in and took his place in the seat beside Mercer. Beckett shifted forward in his chair, putting papers into his desk. Groves moved to stand dutifully behind him.

"Now," Beckett said, pushing the papers in for a last time and locking the draw, "I've called you gentlemen here today to discuss the expansion of the East India Trading Company throughout the rest of the Caribbean islands. In short, things are progressing exactly as planned."

Norrington glanced to the man on his right. Mercer had relaxed, leaning back into his chair. _He must be very pleased with himself_, he thought. He stole a glimpse at his former lieutenant, who had been staring at him intently since he had sat down.

"I also have your orders. You are to remain on the_ Endeavour_ until further notice," Beckett said, noting the coldness that seemed to have permeated the space between the men sitting in front of him. "I trust that won't be inconvenient for either of you."

Mercer looked to his left, then back to his superior. "Not a problem at all, sir."

"Admiral?" Beckett said, venom slipping between the syllables.

"No problem, sir," he replied simply. He wished he could have said something better, especially with a man he had formerly served with in the room.

"Excellent. I shall return to our headquarters in Port Royal on the_ Alexander_ and finish our work there."

"Lord Beckett," said Norrington,"surely you'll need the _Endeavour_. Port Royal does not have the most secure fort in—"

"I assure you that it does, Admiral. You have no need to worry," he said, his posture becoming stiffer.

"Of course, sir."

"Well, then, gentlemen, I have other business to attend to. I trust you'll remember that the _Endeavour_ is a particular favorite of mine, and you'd do well to keep her safe."

The two men nodded, and the three of them rose. Groves again moved to open the door. They filed out of the cabin, Beckett first. The_ Alexander_ was floating beside them, its newly painted hull glittering like the water beneath it. Before boarding, Beckett turned to the men in his wake.

"Enjoy your new assignment, gentlemen. Lieutenant Groves make yourself at home."

Nods were passed all around and Beckett walked along the gang plank back to his ship.

"_Asinus asinum fricat,_" Mercer whispered turning to Norrington.

His mood declining further, Norrington walked away, ignoring the salutes from the crew. Mercer smiled to himself.

"Welcome aboard, Lieutenant Groves," he said before strolling away in the opposite direction.

Groves sighed and looked after the _Alexander _as it pulled away. Beside him, two midshipmen were whispering carelessly to each other.

"Wonder which one of 'em's pistol jammed this time?"

To put it in **G**-rated rated terms this means "the donkey reprehending the donkey." You can use your imagination to guess the synonyms that are used in the exact translation. ; )


End file.
